“It is not my place to make suggestions to you,”
Penelope said. “If you are able to connect
Mr. Fynes with the American Government, you arrive
at the possibility of these murders having been committed
for some political end. I presume you read your
newspapers?”

Inspector Jacks smiled, picked up his hat and bowed,
while Penelope, with a sigh of relief, moved over
to the bell.

“My dear young lady,” he said, “you
do not understand how important even the point of
view of another person is to a man who is struggling
to build up a theory. Whether you have helped
me as much as you could,” he added, looking her
in the face, “you only can tell, but you have
certainly helped me a little.”

The footman had entered. The Inspector turned
to follow him. Penelope remained as she had been
standing, the hand which had touched the bell fallen
to her side, her eyes fixed upon him with a new light
stirring their quiet depths.

“One moment, Morton,” she said. “Wait
outside. Mr. Jacks,” she added, as the
door closed, “what do you mean? What can
I have told you? How can I have helped you?”

The Inspector stood very still for a brief space of
time, very still and very silent. His face, too,
was quite expressionless. Yet his tone, when
he spoke, seemed to have taken to itself a note of
sternness.

“If you had chosen,” he said slowly, “to
have become my ally in this matter, to have ranged
yourself altogether on the side of the law, my answer
would have been ready enough. What you have told
me, however, you have told me against your will and
not in actual words. You have told me in such
a way, too,” he added, “that it is impossible
for me to doubt your intention to mislead me.
I am forced to conclude that we stand on opposite sides
of the way. I shall not trouble you any more,
Miss Morse.”

He turned to the door. Penelope remained motionless
for several moments, listening to his retreating footsteps.

CHAPTER X. MR. COULSON OUTMATCHED

Mr. James B. Coulson settled down to live what was,
to all appearance, a very inoffensive and ordinary
life. He rose a little earlier than was customary
for an Englishman of business of his own standing,
but he made up for this by a somewhat prolonged visit
to the barber, a breakfast which bespoke an unimpaired
digestion, and a cigar of more than ordinary length
over his newspaper. At about eleven o’clock
he went down to the city, and returned sometimes to
luncheon, sometimes at varying hours, never later,
however, than four or five o’clock. From
that time until seven, he was generally to be found
in the American bar, meeting old friends or making
new ones.

On the sixth day of his stay at the Savoy Hotel the
waiter who looked after the bar smoking room accosted
him as he entered at his usual time, a little after
half past four.